


Caught

by bb-sock (saisei)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Captive, Gang Rape, Head Injury, M/M, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/bb-sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy wakes up a captive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

Roy wakes up in a caul of confusion. He can see pain and feel panting cries against his skin like fists. His thoughts bead up like water on oilcloth, sliding away, and he's unaware of his body. He tries to force himself into awareness of the vile smells collecting on his tongue, and just ends up pushing himself back into nothingness again.

He's pretty sure he's not dead. He thinks, sometimes, when he wakes, that he could be aware, if he wanted to be.

He learns how to open his eyes. He stares up into the darkness until his face hurts. Blinking doesn't come naturally any more. He doesn't care.

He gets caught with his eyes open, and then sounds cascade down around him, heavy and angry. His body is moved, shaken and dropped, and it's like being on fire inside his skin. The heat is his home, and he tries to pool the flames in his hands, but they're gone, hands and flames alike. He can't move, and hasn't in a very long time. The world trembles around him, waves of noise.

He shouldn't be here, he thinks, the only thought that stays, such a small conviction to stave off the darkness.

His body's yanked, the warm outer covering peeled away and replaced by wet heat and suction. If he cared, he'd be terrified, he thinks, so he's not going back. His bladder releases and summons a violence of sound, and he feels like even his bones are burning. He forgets how to blink again, trying to feel and be nothing. More heat _down there_ , and the rasp of a tongue raises the horror that he's not alone, that another person exists in this ruined well. His body doesn't need his brain, or want his brain; he feels suffocated, then tense, then a burst of tingling euphoria that he resents as long as he can.

He goes away. He likes the place where he doesn't feel anything; it's quiet and dark. He'd stay there, if only his body would let him. But it keeps pulling him back, with hunger and pain and release. He doesn't want to be curious – there's a dread in his bones that repels him from trying to think about anything, or concentrate, or focus.

Labels for the world sneak up on him, one by one, against his desire to stay in ignorant darkness. Sound separates into laughter, argument, cooking, and sex. Sex is what's done to him before he's allowed to be cleaned and fed; there's another person who does it to him, and still more who jeer at them. Sex is what happens to that other person outside the place where Roy lies. It's angry and loud, skin slapping against skin; red noise, like fire trickling down from a wound. 

He knows colors without seeing them, and doesn't like the implications. The other person gold and sunlight, and when the door opens and he falls in on Roy, the sound leaves his mouth with his breath.

He got hard listening to the sex on the other side of the door, his cock rising with the fire in his veins. A familiar hand gauges the weight of him as legs girds his hips, and his cock is pushed in, by that hand and a steady rocking down. His eyes are open, as is his mouth; a loud noise from behind, and saliva – worse – sprays over them both in a hail of laughter.

The corner of Roy's mouth is wet. He thinks about licking it away, and his stomach tightens with a disgust that spreads through him in hot and cold, revulsion and repulsion and hatred strong enough that he nearly recalls...

Above him, the other person loses balance and tips forward, slamming his hand down on the ground by Roy's ear, breathing the words _keep hiding_ even as he rolls back and reseats Roy's cock inside the heat of his ass. Roy believes he's a person, but he turns his eyes on the wall and lets his body become a thing that sex happens to: a set of reflexes, responses to stimulus, tension and release. He doesn't go all the way away anymore, but he accepts the kick to his leg and the wrenching of his body upright, the way his arms burn as they fall, with the same docility as he's fed, one-word orders and that one hand holding the spoon. _Open_ , _chew_ , _swallow_ , and his hunger is vast, fueling a machine that doesn't know how to stop working.

He's awake – but _hiding_ – as he's washed clean one handed, and then chained back down by the others for the night. The other person is gilded with lamplight and small, but they still argue over who gets him this night, who had him the night before, who will have him tomorrow.

Roy wants to unknow words and unhear sounds, unbind himself and be gone. But he can't leave the other alone, and he shakes in hidden angered laughter as he sees how they trap each other here. Strangled cries and muffled groans ooze through the bars of the door, above them curses and blows, and Roy can picture one of the others forcing Ed down onto his cock. His mouth, gagging and suffocating him, and then his ass, driving in hard enough to fold him in half, raising bruises with his hands, coming with his cock buried so deep it hurts.

Ed: that's the name of the other person, Roy is certain of it, a name tasting like trust and frustration. He knows Ed from before they were here, and he's _outraged_ , rigid against his restraints with the irrepressible conviction that they don't deserve this violation. The other room goes quiet after a while, and Roy closes his eyes. But escape into himself is impossible now. His thoughts feel as if they ought to fit together in a smooth whole, and he brain is restless with the effort to solve the puzzle.

Something terrible happened, is all he comes up with over the next few days. Something happened and he and Ed were brought here and trapped. He wants to leave – he wants the people holding them here to die, and even broken he's aware that he's seen and caused death. He's dangerous, he remembers one night when the men who don't have Ed come in, pull his pants down and bend him in half and fuck him.

Ed shouts for him, but he's good; he can let his gaze slide over the ceiling with the rhythm of hard burning thrusts, his mouth slack, his cock going hard, and soft, and half-hard, coming without desire; he can let them spit on him and hit him and fill his ass. When they're done with him his legs are dropped, and for a moment awareness of his nakedness is so painful that he wishes he could beg to be covered. But then there's laughter, wet heat washing his cock, and the stench of urine. They leave him there, all the next day, without dragging him to the outdoor privy, so he's forced to wet himself, as well.

Ed's eyes that night are a terrible thing, judgmental like the desert sun, his jaw clenched. Ed has a plan, Roy thinks, as they make Ed ride his cock. There's a bad bruise on Ed's side: a gray shadow under his ribs, a stormhead building. Ed bares his teeth when Roy stares at him, so Roy looks away until his body decides to come.

The wet rag afterward feels better than the sex, and Ed flashes a sly grin at him from behind the fall of his matted hair, like he knows just what Roy's thinking. Roy wishes he could touch Ed back, but his arms are wrong – not gone, like Ed's arm and leg, but movement is painful. He has to hide, anyway. The men don't know what Roy and Ed are any more than Roy does, but Ed knows. Roy must never let them find out. He needs Ed; Ed needs his silence.

One of the men brings the bowl of porridge, and Ed feeds Roy as fast as he can, as if he thinks Roy's starving. He hits the spoon against Roy's leg twice, like it means something, before pushing himself up from the floor, using Roy's shoulder and head as leverage. He bends to collect bowl and spoon and makes his way out without looking back.

He forgot the rag, and he's hit because of it. Roy tries not to hear, that and what comes after, but his memory's coming back. He remembers walking, and running. He wants to put one foot after another and put himself between Ed and the men. Carry Ed away from here, surely even broken arms can do that. He listens to Ed being passed from bed to bed, one cock replaced with another, the litany of _no_ and _please_ and _don't_ transfiguring into raw sounds of pain.

One night.

The next night they have a go at Roy again, reversing his chains so he can be flipped on his stomach. He prefers being fucked this way, he decides; his face is hidden, cheek scraping against the floor. His arousal is less obvious when it happens, and he doesn't come.

While the last man's in a frenzy of thrusts, desperate to come, another walks round and pisses directly on Roy's head. The humiliation hits even before the stench, and Roy nearly does the unforgivable – he nearly betrays them both. Rage is caught in his throat and flames are in his blood, his body clenches with the need to fight, and he has to let it go. He breathes harshly and chokes on urine, gags, coughs and half-drowns, wheezes trying to catch his breath, and the man yanks his hips up and comes in his ass with a grunt of pleasure.

They laugh and leave him there, face down. He blinks hard enough trying to get piss out of his eyes that he gets tears as well, and then snot, and fights down nausea. He won't lie in his own vomit. That would be undignified, he thinks, and nearly starts choking again on the tickle of dark amusement that makes his mouth twitch. Nearly a smile.

He doesn't sleep. Morning comes, and Ed's yelled at to do this and that: get food on the table and sweep the floor, tidy up and be quick about it. Doors bang, shaking the floor, and the youngest one – who gets all the bad jobs Ed can't do – escorts Roy out to the privy. Every other morning he drags Roy back inside again, but this time he pulls him to a halt, there in the weed-filled yard. Roy knows he cannot be curious and look around; he tells himself it's a test and a trap. But he hears Ed making his way down the steps, and the man lets go of Roy to help Ed walk around the side of the house to where there's a truck.

Ed talks like he's coaxing a kitten. He knows the man's name, calls him _Paul_ with a half-smile as if they're friends. Maybe they are. They must be, because Paul starts the engine and helps Ed into the passenger seat, and tells Roy something about the gears. Roy doesn't know if he's supposed to thank him, but Ed gestures impatiently and tells him to drive, so Roy does.

At the road, Ed tells him to go right, and steering is hard to do with one elbow and one thigh, especially given how dizzy Roy is being upright for so long. But he's not going back, not now that they're running, no matter how slowly or against traffic regulations.

"They were going to kill us," Ed says abruptly. "My buddy Paul – I had him pegged as the weak link. When you got warm food, that was him. He wanted a share of the ransom, not murder." He fidgets, looking out the side window. "I said we wouldn't turn them in."

Roy's mouth is dry. He nearly licked his lips to buy time, before remembering why he shouldn't. "I didn't," he says, and his voice is strange to his ears, abraded nearly to nothing.

But Ed just snorts. "Duh." After a moment he adds, as if Roy pulled the words from him, "But he did give us this awesome truck. They can put him in jail. The other fuckers you can burn, I don't care."

"Right," Roy says. He lets the car roll on, patchy forest to either side, like they're at the end of the world. "You can keep giving me orders until we get where we're going." He has no idea where that is, but his faith in Ed is absolute. "Then I'll take over." He navigates a tricky turn that requires both slowing and turning, before adding, "Thank you. I should have kept you safe. That was..."

"Fucked up," Ed interrupts, like he's angry with Roy, but he scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes. He looks like a child – he _is_ a child – and Roy's heart aches.

"Tell me when we're there," Roy replies finally. Ed nods, and then there's nothing else to say.


End file.
